


Undertow

by Crystalshard



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Memory Loss, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalshard/pseuds/Crystalshard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While attempting to come to terms with his shattered memories, the man who was once the Winter Soldier takes refuge in an abandoned building.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undertow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KuroAoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroAoki/gifts).



> The implied drug use does not indicate that Bucky is/was actually on drugs, although it can be read that way if you choose. Similarly, the sex is only by loose implication and does not occur in or prior to this story.

The man sat huddled against the wall, shuddering as he rocked back and forth and panted harshly into his knees. Across the room, one of the skimpily-dressed women sharing a cracked mirror shot him a concerned glance as she expertly applied concealer to the bags under he eyes.

For a supposedly abandoned tenement, the building was still in reasonable condition. It still had a roof and most of its floors, and it kept the weather off even if half the windows were boarded up. The shaking man, when he had time to think about it, thought that the boarded-up windows were good - less chance of a light being seen when it was dark outside. 

Snatches of conversation came to his ears, between the rattle of gunfire that was only in his mind. 

". . . think he's dangerous?" 

_. . . blood, red in the distance, stillness on a wet night, the smell of gasoline . . ._

". . . needs a fix, I bet . . ." 

_. . . a key under a brick, you don't have to, I'm with . . ._

He curled up tighter, a whimper leaking between gritted teeth as pain flashed behind his eyes. 

" . . . okay there? Hey, man, you okay?" 

There was weight on his shoulder, on his flesh shoulder, and the man, the - the soldier, no, no he doesn't do that anymore - looked up with red-rimmed eyes at the worried woman standing beside him, her hand warm even through the layers of fabric. 

"I," he tried, voice rasping, and he cleared his throat and tried again. "I have. A lot to process." 

"Goin' cold turkey ain't always the right thing," she said, and it was the first time someone had cared about him even a little in . . . he couldn't remember. "Anything we can pick you up while we're out? We know people." 

Mutely, the man shook his head. 

"Well, okay. If you need anything, just say. Want a sandwich?" 

A faint memory, a rollercoaster and a smaller blond boy. Coney . . . Coney Island . . . hotdogs?

"Hotdog?" he tried. He fumbled in a pocket, found a ten dollar bill that looked strangely unfamiliar, and pushed it at the woman. 

Her painted lips curled into a smile. "Sure thing, hon. I'll grab you a hotdog. And, you know, if you get lonely at night? Just ask me, I'll give you a freebie. Just one, though." 

He looked up at her, confused. Lonely was his default state of being, and he _knew_ that there was something else to her words but he couldn't parse the meaning.

Her thumb stroked his cheek as the expression in her mascara'd eyes softened. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a shout came from behind her. "Hey! Sarah! We need to go or we won't catch the crowds!" 

"You try to sleep, okay, Lonely? I'll be back in a few hours with your hotdog," Sarah promised. 

The man nodded, and the women swirled out and down the stairs in a colorful group. 

"Sarah," he whispered to himself. "His mom's name was Sarah."


End file.
